


seventeen: supposed to be me.

by jinjangled



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, hesistant to call it full angst bc it doesnt seem that bad, i made rocky sad :( sorry, tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 01:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13602378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinjangled/pseuds/jinjangled
Summary: "Sanha and Dongmin have something that Rocky doubts he, himself, will ever have with anyone."Rocky discovers the feeling of jealousy in the seventeenth year of his life.





	seventeen: supposed to be me.

**Author's Note:**

> okay! i apologise for any grammar mistakes n the like because i breezed over it and called that 'proofreading'! 
> 
> anyways socky owns me

Rocky is seventeen when jealousy had first reveals itself to him. 

He had felt it before; but whatever that had been now paled in comparison. Rocky had always been a person content in having just one friend, a singular person to confide in, let his guard down around, and to return the favour to. He was always happy to have one friend, someone who he found a home in, someone who he hoped would find their home in him as well.

For a long time now, that friend has been Sanha. They had met in middle school, when Sanha had transferred to this school; with bright eyes and a big smile, he’d introduced himself to Rocky. Even now, Rocky can remember the exact feeling of affection he’d felt when Sanha had entered his life. For a while, Rocky hadn’t known Sanha was a year younger, as he had intelligence above average for his age. Facing his last year of high school now, with Sanha by his side, only felt right.

Rocky had grown to accept the fact that he had fallen for Sanha - braces and all - and that he wasn’t going to be able to pick himself back up for a long time. Even many years ago Sanha had been some sort of a pit, so deep that Rocky had fallen for a long time before he’d hit a steady place, a place so deep and comfortable, where all he could see was Sanha.

But while he looks around himself, everything reminding him of Sanha, he watches a new figure enter. 

Sanha was unlike Rocky when it came to friendships. Sanha was not as exclusive as Rocky, for lack of a better word, and liked having a spread of friends. He liked being friends with Myungjun, because it was a friendship built along the wavelength of silliness. He found comfort and advice in Jinwoo, a teasing friend in Moonbin.

But in Dongmin, Sanha seemed to find something else. Sanha seemed to admire Dongmin’s work ethic, seemed to enjoy the teasing nature, the affectionate bullying. He and Dongmin would meet in the middle, with childish insults thrown about, and tickle fights at lunch breaks. Dongmin would wake him up with a start if he drifted off in class, and Rocky would have to sit and watch as Sanha giggled sleepily.

And now, Rocky is forced again to watch as Sanha wraps his arms around one of Dongmin’s. Walking through the building to get to their lockers is always an ordeal; there were always too many people in the hallways for anyone’s liking, and losing your friend along the way is always a possibility. It makes sense, really, for Dongmin and Sanha to cling together. What doesn’t make sense, however, is the sudden drop of his stomach. He feels lightheaded, the hallway in front of him swimming as his vision shakes. The sounds fade, and all he can see is the way Sanha’s hand is moving down to hold on tightly to Dongmin’s. It looks natural, looks like that’s where their hands belong.

It stings. It burns. White-hot anger surges through him, ripping through the heart he wears on his sleeve. He feels sick to his stomach, and he briefly wonders if he is going to throw up. He wants to look away,  _ needs  _ to tear his blurry eyes away from their hands, but he  _ can’t _ . He is morbidly curious, torturing himself with an image that he didn’t know would hurt him like this.

His pace falters, and Sanha and Dongmin walk further away from him. He loses them in the crowd, but the picture of their hands gripped together stays vivid.

_ “That is supposed to be me.” _

 

Rocky is seventeen when his heart gets broken.

Sanha and Dongmin have something that Rocky doubts he, himself, will ever have with anyone. Sanha has all but abandoned him, and with every day that passes, they talk less and less. Rocky sits alone, silent and brooding, not feeling well enough to eat. He has become accustomed to nausea, accustomed to the shivers that come with a cold sweat. He gets used to being tired, gets used to being unable to focus. Without Sanha there to bring him back down to earth, to settle him, he shakes. He feels lost without Sanha.

The first time he skips class, he spends the time dry heaving over the toilet. He doesn’t know why; it could be a stomach bug, or he could have eaten something bad. As he spends more and more time outside of class and hovering over the toilet bowl, he begins to notice a trend. And it scares him.

Sanha’s fingers wrap around Dongmin’s wrist, a big smile forming on his face. Dongmin laughs his deep, musical laugh, his head falling back. Rocky watches as they absorb themselves in their own private world, so immersed in a joke that they fail to notice him pushing himself out of his desk. It scares him because the fingers that search for Dongmin’s arm feel like they are instead wrapping themselves around Rocky’s throat, pressing  _ in _ . He can’t breathe, can’t think,  _ can’t stand it. _

It is eleven thirty in the morning, and Rocky is sent home.

He cries in the car, his mother pulling over to park in the emergency lane. She looks at him with concern, her hand smoothing down his hair. He looks messy,  _ feels  _ messy, the taste of bile still lingering in the back of his throat as he desperately tries to collect a thought, any thought other than one of Sanha. Pale, tired, and vulnerable, his hand moves to his chest. He presses down, hoping that he can somehow piece himself back together.

 

Rocky is seventeen when he feels most alone.

Through the noise of his thoughts, that buzzing jealousy, irrational thoughts ringing loud, he thinks about a solution. He knows it is an easy fix, he knows that all he needs to do is brush himself off and involve himself in their friendship, but that feels intrusive. He knows that all he needs to do is just  _ talk  _ to them, but he is blocked by pride. He is blocked by pride, and a vicious need to withdraw. He is alone by choice, if he thinks about it. 

It doesn’t feel like he chooses to be alone. He wonders if he would feel included in their private world, one where their backs turn to those on either side of the two of them. He wonders if he would feel included in a conversation littered with inside jokes, a conversation that is held in their own language; their sense of humour unique to them, unique to the details of their lives that only the other is privy to. 

Rocky doubts it would do much to soothe him. He doubts it would ease his headache, heartache, exhaustion. Every day feels tiring; his emotional strength depleted as soon as their heads come together to whisper. He hasn’t said a word to Sanha in three weeks, hasn’t met his eyes in two weeks.

Guilt gnaws at him strangely, in a way he never would have guessed. He spends hours kicking himself over not talking, over isolating himself. Selfishly, he wonders if Sanha misses him. Selfishly, he wonders if Dongmin feels guilty, too. He feels as if he is the one to have abandoned Sanha, to have shut him out; but the way that Sanha’s back becomes a common sight erases the thought as quickly as it forms.

He wants to be missed. Wants to be desired as he desires Sanha; craves affection and attention, validation and appreciation. He wants to lean on Sanha and for Sanha to lean back, wants to be included in his thoughts, wants to know the details of his life that only Dongmin knows. Once, Rocky would have been where Dongmin is now. He would have been there next to Sanha, Sanha’s head on _his_ shoulder, _his_ phone full of stupid photos of Sanha.

_ “That is supposed to be me.” _

 

Rocky is seventeen when he learns to speak up.

He had never been the type to confront others; he had never really needed to before, he’d never had an issue like this. He’d sought advice from his family, spoken at length with his mother for weeks now over this issue, and he had come to terms with this being one hell of a bout of jealousy. His mother had gently, but insistently, urged him to speak to Sanha. He’d considered making a plan, writing out something like a script, and memorising it. Maybe it would come across forced, too formal, too distant. Speaking directly from his feelings seemed risky, too, because when it came to Sanha, there was nothing he could hide. 

He’d spent hours laughing wryly at himself. If he hadn’t fallen for Sanha, he wouldn’t be in this situation. His heart was in the way, standing between rationality and himself. 

What would he even say, if he was to approach Sanha?  _ ‘Sorry, Sanha, but I love you and I hate that you and Dongmin are friends.’ _ Or maybe something like,  _ ‘Hey. Sorry for lashing out at you. It’s just that I really love you and it hurts me that Dongmin is where I am supposed to be.’  _ Perhaps he’d take a more angry path, accidentally insult Dongmin, drawing on childish insecurity.

He’d cleared his mind of all plans, all options. It would be best to just  _ say something _ , anything, as long as it came from  _ him _ .

It isn’t until Rocky takes those dreaded steps toward Sanha, who stands alone, sandwich in hand, that his body language changes. As he spots Rocky, his shoulders rise and he stands a little straighter. Rocky notices the way he seems to close himself off to him, and that in itself probably hurts more than anything Sanha could say now. 

Sanha has a complicated expression on his face, one that Rocky thinks he can identify as partially hurt, and partially angry. He sees hesitation, bitterness, and something he will refuse to call distaste.

“Sanha.” Rocky attempts to say.

“You’ve remembered I exist?” Sanha snaps. Rocky feels the shards of his heart shatter further, dread and familiar guilt settling deep in his bones. He feels cold, his skin prickling, eyes stinging. 

These words do not come from a happy place. They are not playful, nor are they lighthearted; they are from a place deep inside Sanha that Rocky knows well. He speaks straight from the feeling of exclusion, the feeling of retreating to last resorts. He speaks with a voice laced with exhaustion, with a throat raw from sobbing. 

Perhaps Rocky is projecting. Perhaps he sees what he wants to see, hears what he truly wants to hear. But as he watches Sanha tear up, bottom lip trembling, and turn his back on Rocky, he thinks that this might have been one big misunderstanding.

Sanha walks away. Rocky knows he will walk into Dongmin’s arms, who will comfort him, wipe away his tears.

_ “That is supposed to be me.” _

 

Rocky is seventeen when he feels most hopeless.

He faces a weekend that will be spent feeling sick to his stomach, a weekend that will pass all too quickly. He knows he will watch himself from a distance, not feeling connected to his body, rather, floating in an ambiguous space filled with regret. His predictions are correct, and his waking moments are spent replaying the moment when Sanha began to cry. He lets himself cry, the memory of Sanha and Dongmin’s hands intertwining engraved on the back of his eyelids. His dreams are abstract, strange imagery that somehow still relates back to his feelings toward Sanha. He wakes up in cold sweats, his pillow soaked with both that and tears shed against his will. 

And when Monday comes, he will have to face Sanha again.

Once, he and Sanha shared a desk in the middle row, second from the left end. Before Sanha had attached himself to Dongmin instead, this had been their place. Rocky had remained there, but Sanha had moved to sit with Dongmin in the back row last month. Rocky had sat alone, and he had grown used to it. Once he had figured out how to stand nausea, block out their presence, he’d been able to work semi-productively. 

The feeling of the world coming to a standstill was one he’d not felt for months. The only reason that time had ever stopped was to allow him more time to soak in Sanha’s presence, to relish the feeling of being in love. He’d not felt it since Sanha last smiled at him, since Sanha’s beautiful laugh had filled his space. Time hadn’t stopped since Sanha’s eyes glittered with happiness, caught up in a moment where his heart bled love. He missed those moments of peace. But now, he feels everything slow again. His world lurches as though it doubts this is real, trying to figure out if it is a false alarm. He feels his heart pound, a gentle double beat, and a hard  _ pulse _ .

No, this was very real.

In the middle row, at the desk second from the left, sits yoon Sanha. He is slouching, his head resting on his right hand. Rocky can tell he is fast asleep, tired from a restless and sleepless Sunday night. He knows that ruffled look of his hair, the way his jumper sits lopsided.

He timidly takes the seat to Sanha’s left, and it feels  _ right _ . It feels as if something clicks, and he knows that this is where he belongs. He belongs by Sanha’s side, even if Sanha doesn’t know he’s there, because Sanha is the one who completes him. Sanha makes up for his quiet moments, Sanha brings him out of his shell, and Sanha makes him remember that beautiful things exist in the world. Sanha shifts, eyes blinking open. Rocky feels the world speed back up as Sanha’s mouth curls into an embarrassed smile, their eyes meeting properly, void of anger, for the first time in months. Sanha is sleepy, his cheeks flushed, his expression one of soft forgiveness.

Rocky had all but forgotten what it was like to have Sanha crowd his space, but the way that Sanha leans toward him and rests his head on his shoulder served as a welcome reminder. As natural as it is to breathe, Rocky’s head falls to let Sanha’s hair cushion his cheek.

“I ran to Dongmin because  _ you  _ weren’t there for me to run to.” Sanha confesses. His voice is hushed, quiet enough for only Rocky to hear. “You closed yourself off.”

Rocky sighs, his heart squeezing painfully with guilt. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“We’re okay now, right?” Sanha asks, his eyes closing where he settles on Rocky’s shoulder. Sanha’s eyes close, but his heart seems to open back up again. Rocky finally understands that it was never Dongmin. 

“Always.” Rocky murmurs.

 

Rocky is nineteen when he finally feels loved.

Sanha is looking at him from across the field, waiting for Rocky to pitch. They had decided earlier that day that they would play baseball down at the local oval, if the weather permitted. And it had; the sun shines brightly on them, illuminating every inch of Sanha’s beautiful self. The sky is clear, and the air feels warm. Rocky had taught Sanha how to pitch, how to bat, and how to field. Sanha is grinning now, the bat hanging by his side, swinging in his loose grip.

“Are you going to throw that?” Sanha calls, a laugh interrupting his speech. Rocky rolls his eyes, lopping the ball toward Sanha. There is a satisfying  _ thwack  _ as Sanha hits it, and it goes  _ far _ . Rocky cheers, throwing the glove into the air, a feeling of elated pride bubbling up inside of him. He turns back to Sanha, who is sprinting toward him with an open mouthed expression of pure joy and shock. Rocky tumbles to the ground as Sanha barrels into him, the sound of Sanha’s squeal deafening in this proximity.

He could deal with the ringing in his ears, because Sanha was giggling into the space between his jaw and collarbone. Rocky tightens his grip around Sanha’s waist, holding him close. The grass feels wet from yesterday’s rain, and he can feel his shirt soaking through, but he doesn’t mind; because Sanha’s giggles are calming down and the moment feels increasingly intimate.

It hadn’t felt like this with Sanha before. There had never been a moment this serious, the air had never felt quite this tense. Sanha pulls away, his hands on the grass on either side of Rocky’s head. He’s pushing himself up, and Rocky wants to cry, kick and scream; he doesn’t want this moment to end.

Sanha smiles down at him, his head blocking the sun. He feels Sanha change where he lays, shifting off of Rocky to lay on the grass. Sanha’s head rests in the palm of his hand, elbow digging into the earth. He is looking at Rocky with a look of fondness, one that Rocky feels himself mirroring. He could stay like this forever, looking up at Sanha, who looks like an angel; framed by the sunlight.

Sanha’s nose bumps against his, unhurriedly. Sanha leaves the softest, barest hint of a kiss against his lips, and Rocky is left doubting that he was ever there at all. As he opens his eyes again, looks at the way Sanha’s cheeks flush and his eyes fill with certainty, it was more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!  
> i can be found [here](https://jinjangled.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
